


In Dreams

by AvaSafari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Modern Muggle AU, Oneshot, Samhain 2018, tomione - Freeform, tomionekinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 03:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaSafari/pseuds/AvaSafari
Summary: Every night Hermione Granger goes to bed she dies a horrific death. Time will tell what is real and what is fantasy. Is the handsome stranger that suddenly appears in her life a dream come true or the monster that haunts her nightmares.





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tellmesomethingnew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesomethingnew/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta darklordherself, your comments and support really helped!!

Tick. Tock. Tick…. Tock….

The clock was mocking her, she was sure of it. Why call it the face of a clock afterall? If not to represent the laughing, taunting nature of father time. 

Hermione Granger had been awake for 5 days straight, her body vibrating with energy in defense of mounting exhaustion. She did not suffer from insomnia or some other sleep disorder. Yet she haunted the house like a wraith, silently drifting from room to room, always moving. She was not cramming all day and night for exams or crying over a failed relationship. No, the reason why Hermione refused to close her eyes, to lie down in any position resembling horizontal, was that every night she went to bed, she died a horrific death.

Well, maybe not literally, but in dreams she witnessed the last hours of countless victims, a passenger seeing through their eyes as they met a grisly end. Every dream was so vivid, each victim and murder unique. 

The nightmares began about a month ago or was that two? 

The days now ran together in her dazed state, time a viscous liquid that she waded through so slowly, she often wondered if she was moving at all. She would fight the siren call of sleep for as long as she could, drinking coffee, energy drinks, exercising, but eventually she couldn’t help but to give in to it’s honeyed promises of peaceful slumber.

She could still remember the first dream like it was yesterday, it all started with a girl named Ginny.

_Flashing white bulbs and neon colored signs competed for attention everywhere she looked. It was as if she were submerged under water, the lighting diffused with a soft glow. The evening held a dreamy quality to it, the wind whipping fiery red strands into her face that she pushed behind her ear. Sounds though sharp, were muffled and distorted, the noise putting her on edge. Various songs blared from worn out speakers as they passed, people all around were talking animatedly and laughing._

_Her arm was entwined with a young man who had messy black hair. His green eyes crinkled when he smiled at her, the lights glittering off the round wire glasses that sat high on his nose. He was amused by something she’d said as he pulled her further into the crowd toward the ferris wheel. Oh no, she hated heights, Hermione wanted to yell at the mystery man, but she couldn’t speak. She could only watch in apprehension as her body walked up to the carney, handed tickets to the man and got into the rickety cab of death._

_The ride wasn’t quite as terrifying as Hermione had anticipated, there was a sense of security she received from her companion, a warm feeling that flooded her gut. He had a muscled arm wrapped around her and she leaned into his warmth. The evening was a blur of faces, friends chatting, snacks eaten, rides enjoyed. She could lose herself in the nostalgia this outing at the carnival invoked, it felt more fun and carefree than she remembered experiencing in a long time. The girl’s boyfriend had stepped away to use the loo as she leaned against a nearby wall._

_The restrooms were located quite far from the main carnival setup on the grounds. You had to practically walk back to the parking lot just to get there and it was poorly lit too. It looked like a scene right out of a horror movie, the young perky innocent girl, all alone in the dark, waiting for her murderer to come. She was looking down at her phone, the bright screen illuminating her face, when she heard a faint sound._

_She moved toward it and Hermione felt her fight or flight instincts kick in. This woman didn’t seem to possess Hermione’s same sense of self preservation and walked around the dim corner to investigate. Suddenly strong hands gripped her from behind and pulled her into a tall firm body. Within seconds she felt the prick of a needle go into her neck. The girl struggled desperately to get free, but with each wild flail of the arms and kick of her legs, she could feel her body was shutting down. She cursed her bad luck as she slipped into unconsciousness._

_She couldn’t see anything, a course strip of cloth biting into her face. She went to remove it, but couldn’t move her wrists, in fact, her whole body felt tied down to a hard cool surface. This can’t be good, Hermione chided, doesn’t this girl know you should never go alone to check out a strange noise? This setup so cliché, Hermione internally rolled her eyes, trying to remember her tv history and if that included too many episodes of cold case files or some halloween slasher marathon. She couldn’t recall, though at the moment, she had more pressing matters to be concerned over._

_She knew how this would play out and would much rather wake up, before the final act was performed. Wake up, wake up, wake up, she chanted, as she heard the creak of a door. The girl was trying to spew obscenities, but her mouth was gagged, as a man chuckled and ran a hand through her hair, playing with a strand between his fingers._

_“I’ve been patiently waiting for you, my little lamb. Tonight is a very important night.” he trailed off as he ran the same hand along her cheek and cupped her chin. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You should feel very special, I’ve chosen you as my first and one never forgets his first time, as the saying goes.”_

_Tears were trailing down her eyes and her breathing was becoming erratic._

_“Oh, sweet Ginerva or is it Ginny? You do seem to prefer being called Ginny, don’t you? Well, don’t you worry, you have nothing to fear. You were destined for greatness. I will make you famous, immortal even. Long after you’ve left this mortal coil, you will forever live on in the tales of this night. This story, our story will be on the tip of every tongue, burned into the hearts of anyone who hears it. Or maybe, and this is just me being entirely selfish, maybe I don’t want to share what we have with the world. What do you think?” He paused, then walked around the table, leaning down to her ear on the opposite side._

_“Would you like to know a secret, my pet?” Here, he finally removed the object that kept her from speaking._

_“I don’t give a shit about what you’ve got to say, you sick fuck! Let me go this instant. Harry will be looking for me, you idiot. I’m sure someone must’ve seen you with me and I don’t know if you’re aware, but I come from a long line of cops and my family will not stop until they find me.”_

_“Oh, sweet Ginny. Of course, I expect your family to find you!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together._

_“First they’ll find your two hands, then they’ll find your torso, that pretty little head of yours, the lovely lower half, and lastly your two legs and feet. Seven pieces to make you whole once more.”_

_“Untie me this instant! Give me a fair fight, you fucking coward!” She screamed._

_“Such a filthy mouth,” he sighed, shoving the gag back between her lips, “I was hoping for a civil conversation, but I see now, that won’t be possible. I was going to serenade you with all the reasons why I chose you Ginerva, seven letters first name and last, seventh child, I could go on and on about why seven is the most powerful number and how you perfectly embody the number in walking, talking, human form, but the moods been ruined, hasn’t it? I suppose it was too much to ask for you to be excited about this journey we’ll share together. I get it, maybe I’d be less thrilled if I were in your place, but Ginny, can’t you at least appreciate that, in a sense, you’ll be living on forever. Forever Ginny!”_

_This man is clearly insane, Hermione deduced. I mean, where is he going with this monologue? It sounds to me, even he’s lost the plot. The room went silent and she couldn’t feel his presence hovering over her anymore. She wondered if he quietly slinked away, or was he just standing there unmoving, staring like a predator in wait. Each second that passed, felt like an hour, several hours, when out of nowhere there was a prick against her stomach, that was pushing with more pressure, and Jesus Christ, is this what it felt like to be stabbed? Ginny was now letting out muffled screams and sobs, as Hermione witnessed this terrible act. The pain that Hermione felt was numbed, but she knew it must’ve been agonizing as Ginny thrashed and cried against the assault._

Beep...! Beep...! Beep! Hermione jolted upright in bed, blinking, eyes madly darting around the room. She sighed, it really was just a dream. I knew that, she reaffirmed, dragging a hand down the side of her face. 

Increasingly disturbed come morning as she awoke from each new and gruesome death scene, Hermione was determined to overcome these strange recurring night terrors. She had started to keep a dream journal after maybe the third or fourth night, with detailed recounts of everything she could remember. It was therapeutic writing it out and she felt a bit lighter with each swipe of the pen.

There had been a pretty blonde with wavy hair that giggled too much, named Violet or was that Lavender? She was sure it was some purple flower name. He had grabbed her from a dark alley as she was reapplying her lipstick, eyes glued to her compact, already wasted and barely standing. A little prick to the neck and Hermione was greeted with darkness once more. He was not fond of Lilac, he flayed part of her arms and legs, his sick manic laugh ringing in her ears along with the poor girls wails. Iris periodically passed out from the pain only to be waterboarded awake.

Then there was another blonde with straight hair and more of a plain face that went by Hannah. Hannah Abba, she’d actually created a last name for once. Hannah was terrified and begged continually to be spared. He who had no name, snickered at her naivety. 

“Do you imagine yourself in a situation that warrants you to just walk away if you ask nicely enough?” His smooth deep baritone caressed as he cruelly cut off her air supply by shoving a thick cloth into her mouth and pinched her nose. He sighed as her face turned varying shades of pink and red.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know? You’re the human equivalent of stale white bread. No one cares about you, no one would remember you if you got hit by a car tomorrow. Not your so called friends, or peers. Not even that beta male boyfriend Neville. Sure, they may think fondly of you for a week, but after that, your memory will be gone with the ether. That’s how little your very existence impacts the world around you.”

As her skin tinged purple then blue, he released his hold on her nose. He pulled the cloth from her mouth as she took deep gulping gasps. She flinched when she felt him near once more, his breath upon her face.

“So you see, I’m saving you from a fate worse than death. To be forgotten, to have never been. No, the world will remember you, sweet Hannah as a tragic character, sure. A cautionary tale, maybe. But they won’t forget, no, they’ll always recall this very night, the night which you became a legend.”

He switched it up with a male victim another evening. Colin was tall, skinny and homely looking. When he smiled, his teeth looked about 2 sizes too big for his mouth. Colin was strangled with a plastic bag over his head. He who had no name was choking poor Colin over and over until finally he took pity on the poor sod by mounting him, and snapping his neck with a hard twist of the chin.

Hermione felt crazy, how could she be normal and create these grotesque visions. No well adjusted person fantasized about murder to the degree that she lived it every night. She researched the meaning behind dreams and the symbolism of the unconscious mind. Was there some hidden underlying issue that needed to be addressed? 

“Honey, you look like death. You really shouldn’t stay up so late at night.”

“Thanks mother, I’ll try that in the future.”

We have retired F.B.I. Profiler “Mad Eye” Moody on the show today, “Mr. Moody, what would you say drives a serial killer such as the self proclaimed “Death Eater” or “Voldemort” that has eluded police capture for the past 6 years.”

“He’s been at large for 6 years, but he’s been inactive for the past 4, only recently re-emerging in the last 3 months.” Moody gruffly spit out.

“Mom, why do you watch this garbage?”

“The news? Honey, current events are important, you could stand to be more informed, you should sit down and watch with me.”

“The news is nothing more than depression inducing and fear mongering. I’ll pass.”

No, Hermione had much more important matters to ponder than brainlessly learning about what common household items gave you cancer or which celebrities were having a baby.

All of her most recent dreams were about blondes, did she have some deep seated hatred for fair haired individuals. She couldn’t remember any particular trauma from her past that would result in her wishing for the death of blondes. Then again, the first victim she saw had vibrant red hair. 

She consulted several sleep therapists in person and online, only to be disappointed with them spouting off the same information she had dug up herself already. In desperation, she even tried taking sleeping pills in hopes of blacking out, but those too failed to safeguard her from the haunting images.

Nothing helped and nothing changed. So she settled into her current cycle of staying awake for as many days as humanly possible, mind of over matter and all that, followed by crashing for a day, day and a half, repeat. At least then she was only faced with the horrors of her mind once a week, rather than Every. Single. Night. 

  


~O-O~

  


Tick. Tock. Tick…. Tock….

Is it just me or did the clock just wink at me? Hermione blinked her eyes, staring harder at the enemy. She didn’t want to know the time, to know that it was god awful early in the morning and she should really be asleep right now, rather than standing in line for coffee like these other early bird bastards.

Hermione was tired, dead tired. What was that line from Fight Club? “This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy.” That line epitomized her current state of being as she stumbled through her order, “No, it’s Hermione, H-e-r-m, ugh, just write G, it’s for Miss G. Thanks.” She muttered walking away to stand off to the side.

“I’ll have a coffee, black.”

Hermione whipped her head toward the sound, that voice. The pitch and tone of that man instantly gave her chills and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Luckily she was near a wall and was able to lean against it nonchalantly as her mind raced a million miles a minute. Could this be the man in her dreams, was that monster real? Was she even awake right now?

“Miss G, order up!”

Hermione took a deep breath and headed toward the counter. She raked her eyes over him, tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was artfully windswept, his gait confident, he smelled like money. Some understated cologne that lingered pleasantly in the air and made your eyes follow the source.

He held himself with an air of ease as if everything just came to him, yet the coldness he radiated made him seem unapproachable, untouchable even.

He noticed her instantly, leaning heavily against the wall as if she could melt into the shadows. Her eyes kept darting toward him, she was not as subtle as she imagined. It stirred the predator inside, she was so damn skittish, beyond normal attraction or nerves. She was dripping neurosis, with her twitching and constant subtle movements. Her hair was curly and wild, it seemed to reflect her agitation. She invoked the thrill of the hunt in him, which was odd to say the least. Intrigued he put on his friendly face.

She was staring off into the distance again, only realizing too late that her line of sight settled in his direction. He flashed her a grin with his dead eyes. She almost dropped her coffee.

“I’m so sorry!” She blurted out, blushing profusely. “You just look so familiar, I was trying to place you, but I can’t seem to figure out where I would’ve seen you before.” _Or heard you, demon spawn._

“Tom, order up!” 

He grabbed his coffee turning towards her, hand outstretched. “It’s ok, I get that more often than you’d think.” This time, the smile reached his eyes.

“I’m Tom.” He said tipping his coffee toward her in salute.

“I’m Hermione and really, I didn’t mean to stare. I don’t suppose you attend Hogwarts Uni and I’ve seen you around campus?” She blurted the first nonsense small talk she could think of.

“Oh no, dear!” He said with a hearty laugh. “I’ve been out of University for about 10 years now.” He invited her to join him.

“I shouldn’t, I couldn’t.” Hermione stammered, adjusting her messenger bag, wondering if he would chase her should she bolt for the door.

“Nonsense, come, sit”

“Um...ok.” She sat down gracelessly, bumping her bag into the table and knocking some of her books and papers from inside the bag onto the floor. _Fuck, I’ll never get out of here now._

“I’m such a klutz lately, sorry. I feel like I can’t stop apologizing to you.” _Please be annoyed and send me away._

“It’s fine, it’s early and you haven’t had any of your coffee yet. You have an excuse.” He offered charmingly. Tom bent down to help her gather her things. Hermione Granger displayed on one of her cover pages. “You mentioned you attend Hogwarts? And majoring in…” he looked down at the textbook Cognitive Psychology and Cognitive Neuroscience and a paperback Dreams and Nightmares: The Origin and Meaning of Dreams.

“I’m going to take a stab and say, psych major?”

_Funny you should say “stab”, seems you have a propensity toward violence even in your everyday speech._

“It was a fair guess, but no. I’m a pre-med major, I have an academic interest in psychology, hence...”

She seemed friendly enough, but there was something in her eyes. He could see fear in them if he looked hard enough. She recognized him, which was absurd as he’d never seen this girl before. She held herself surprisingly steady, considering her instinct to flee, her body was facing the door and she held tension in her legs to jump up and run at a moment’s notice. 

Fascinating. He wanted to splay his hand on her knee to hold her still, he wondered if she would faint if he touched her. Or would she fight him? Would he have to wrestle her to the ground and use his body weight to hold her down. He was getting excited just thinking about her underneath him.

“Is old Slughorn still teaching Chem?”

“So you did go to Hogwarts?” She countered, eyebrow raised. _Liar, liar, pants on fire. What else are you lying about sweet prince?_

“I did, but ages ago.”

They talked about some of his old professors that still taught, about some of her classes. The conversation flowed freely and Hermione found herself being lulled into a false sense of security the more she listened to his opinions and thoughts on current medical practices and some of the recent breakthroughs his research firm had made in cancer cell analysis. 

Was she being paranoid in thinking this highly educated well to do man was a serial killer just because of the cadence of his voice. Of course she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about him. 

“I should get going, classes and all that.” Hermione was never good at a natural exit strategy.

Tom smiled warmly. “I’d love to see you again, allow me to take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow night?” She choked, catching herself from a look of horror and forcing a pleasant expression on her face. _This is it, this is the moment that I’ll regret my life choices once I’m lying blindfolded and tied down on his table._

“I’d love to, but I’m just swamped with midterms coming up and I have this research paper due on Tuesday…”

“Give me your phone. We can exchange numbers and meet up the next time you have a few free hours. I’d love to pick your brain on stem cell theory, you’re more enthusiastic and knowledgeable than my current interns. It would be great having someone like you on board.”

_Now this posed a unique opportunity. Getting close to him, she could find out if her suspicions were real or merely a fantastic coincidence. Surely if he was a murderer, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to piss where he eats, wait, what was that saying? Don’t take a piss in the yard? Don’t piss where you sleep?_

“Hermione?”

“Hm…?” _Shit, I didn’t hear what he was saying._

Tom’s hand was outstretched, her phone in his palm. He placed it in her own, playing with her fingers in a surprisingly intimate way. He stood and leaned toward her ear.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Hermione. I can’t wait to get to know you better.” he breathed, then swiftly walked away.

_What the fuck was that?_

  


~O-O~

  


Hermione slept like a baby. Sweet, sweet peaceful REM sleep, no night terrors, no lingering feelings of disgust and horror upon waking. I haven’t felt this good in what feels like forever, she mused. 

A couple weeks passed and she fell back into routine easily, school, study, work, repeat. It seemed like the nightmares and sleep deprivation were a thing of the past. She didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she put the disturbing dreams behind her, locking them in a box within the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind.

“Hermione, can you pick up a prescription for your father tomorrow afternoon? I thought I’d be around, but Barbara filled the cancellation spot, so it looks like we’ll be in the office most of the day.”

“Of course mom, it’s no problem.”

Parts of Hannah Abbott were recently found buried in multiple shallow graves on the shore of the Thames by Reading. Seven graves, each containing a piece of her body. Police suspect this is another case of the self proclaimed “Death Eater” or “Voldemort” serial killer. He is known to stalk, torture, and kill his victims, disposing of their body, by cutting it up into 7 pieces.

Hermione stared at the tv, her eyes getting blurry and a high pitched ringing filling her head. Hannah Abbott, Hannah Abbo, Hannah Abba. Why did that name sound so familiar?

Ding.

Hermione looked down at her phone.

_Hey, it’s Tom. We met at the coffee shop. How did midterms go? What are you doing this weekend? Want to have dinner?_

Her stomach dropped.

Hermione ran to her bedroom grabbing her dream journal and flipping open her laptop.

“Honey are you okay?” Her mother called from the living room.

“I’m fine Mom, I just felt a headache coming on. I think I’m going to lay down.”

She furiously typed Hannah Abbott into google and opened the first article with a picture of a plain faced blonde smiling back at the camera. She typed in “Voldemort” seeing thousands of articles pop up in the search, scrolling down the screen names like “Ginny” “Lavender” and even “Colin” jumping out at her. This serial killer had been active on and off over the past 6 years, with his victim count suspected to reach as low as 23, as high as 48. The room started to spin and she was hyperventilating, this was real, all her dreams really happened.

She passed out. 

  


~O-O~

  


Now that she thought about it, the dreams stopped around the time she met Tom. She felt like an idiot for not making the connection sooner! This had to mean something. She felt fear, yes, of course, but she also felt purpose and duty. Hermione was meant to prove his guilt and somehow stop his murderous killing spree, she just knew it.

_Hello, Tom. It’s good to hear from you. This weekend sounds great! I’m available Saturday night, just let me know when and where. I look forward to seeing you soon. :)_

  
  



End file.
